


They're Green or They're Blue

by binx95



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art School, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Femme Fatale, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Smut, Romance, Sexual Content, stalkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binx95/pseuds/binx95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art School AU: A tattooed stranger helps Castiel carry an oversized canvas. Maybe he can lend a hand to Castiel for a few other things...?</p><p>(work in progress)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impression, Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> HI! This is a work in progress. Literally. I think it'll be worth following. Please leave feedback! I usually post on fanfiction.net under "casnotcass" so also check me out there. Thanks :)

Castiel Novak grunted, struggling to hold up the canvas. In the interest of fine architecture of the campus, there were beautiful winding staircases. They happened to be inconveniently situated on his path back to his apartment.

 

He held the oversized portrait carefully, protective that the picture wouldn’t hit the brass banisters that lined the stairway. He had another four floors of stairs to go. The painting was slipping out of his hands every few steps. He stopped to re-grip the canvas.

 

These stairs were hell. Castiel made a mental note to get to the gym. Being an art student was not great for his physical fitness. He looked at the canvas, and the watercolor of his sister stared back at him. She hadn’t seen it in completion, only what he gave in for an assignment. Because of this, he wanted to give it to her for her birthday. Castiel reminded himself that spending his extra time in the gym would reduce the paintings he hd finished.  He stayed relatively fit thanks to a fast metabolism and walking all over Chicago.

 

He stretched before he picked the painting back up and continued his climb.

 

 

Castiel held the painting to the side of his body, so he could see the stairs in front of him. He watched each step climb the steep marble staircase. One misstep and he’d break the canvas.

 

 

He heard footsteps quickly running up the stairs behind him. Castiel tried to move to the side toward the banister, but his movement made him slide.

 

 

Castiel threw his weight toward the banister. A hand grabbed his left arm, steadying him.

 

 

“Woah there, buddy. You alright?”

 

 

Castiel couldn’t see of whom the deep voice belonged to over the giant canvas. He lowered it to see a tall, muscled man. He had a five o’clock shadow and wore ripped jeans. A rolled-up maroon button down hugged his arms. Underneath, he wore a grey v-neck that had white paint on the bottom hem. Castiel could see a tattoo of a gun wrapped in a rosary peeking out on his right arm.  Thick dark trees springing up from his wrist covered his left forearm.

 

 

Castiel spent too much time studying the man, and forgot to respond. The man was just smirking at him, still holding Castiel’s arm. His green eyes sparkled at him.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

 

 

The man smiled broadly at him. “Can I help you carry this? The canvas is huge and I don’t want you killing anyone. Especially not yourself.”

 

Castiel felt like he’d carried this too far to stop now. He was no quitter.

 

 

“I’ve got this, thank you.”

 

 

The man let go of his arm, but stayed, crossing his arms and pressing, “How much more do you have to carry that monster?”

 

 

Castiel exhaled, “Four more floors.”

 

The man’s jaw dropped. He shook his head at Castiel, and said, “Of stairs? Why didn’t you take the elevator?”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, and adjusted himself and the portrait to start walking up the stairs again. “There is no elevator in this building.” He resumed walking up the marble staircase.

 

 

The man followed. “Is that what they told you? There’s one just down the south side of the building.”

 

 

Castiel stopped. He lowered the painting again and looked at the tattooed stranger beside him. “If that’s a joke it is not an amusing one.” He started walking again.

 

 

The man followed, “I swear. I can take you there! Just let me help you carry that. Give you a break.”

 

 

Castiel stopped again on the landing and spun to scowl at him. “If there is an elevator in this building, why aren’t you on it?”

 

The man smiled and shrugged. “Needed the exercise.”

 

Castiel sighed. He looked up at the staircase that he would have to climb with the huge canvas. He glanced back at the man, who looked absolutely smug.

 

 

 

He groaned. “Fine.” Castiel grabbed the top of the canvas. “Grab the bottom,” He commanded.

 

 

Tattooed Stranger smirked and grabbed the bottom of the canvas. He nodded to the left side of the hallway. “Go left. The elevator is only like 50 feet away.”

 

Castiel waddled down the hall, focused on getting to the fake elevator. Sure enough, there it was. No wonder he always missed it, it was pushed back into the asymmetrical wall so that you couldn’t see it. Castiel pushed the button.

 

 

He set his side down so that only Tattooed Stranger was holding it up.

 

 

He grinned, “Told you so.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes. The doors opened and Castiel reached out and grabbed the painting from Tattooed Stranger. He leaned against the wood paneling inside the elevator.

 

Tattooed Stranger followed him inside. Inside the elevator, the man had a better look at the portrait.

 

“She you’re girlfriend?” He asked

 

 

Castiel shook his head. “My sister, Anna.”

 

 

Tattooed Stranger tilted his head at the picture. “It’s pretty. I like how you made her hair whist around her face. It looks almost like water.”

 

 

Castiel looked at the man curiously. Tattooed Stranger glanced back up on him, catching his eyes. He smiled. Castiel’s face warmed under his gaze.

 

 

The man raised his eyebrows at Castiel, his green eyes darting across his chest and leanly muscled forearms. “I’ve never seen you on campus before. What’s your name?”

 

 

“Castiel.”

 

He made a face of disbelief, but it morphed back into a pleasant smile. “Well Cas, I’m Dean Winchester.”

 

The elevator chimed and the doors lurched open. Castiel lifted his portrait and walked out the elevator doors. He turned to see Dean smiling back at him.

 

 

As the doors closed, Dean shouted, “Hope to see you around, Cas!”

 

 

Castiel had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t be able to avoid Dean if he tried. 


	2. The Artist's House at Argenteuil

“I knew you had a thing for guys who have tattoos.” Anna beamed up at Castiel from her crossed legged position atop her bed.

 

Castiel paced her small dormitory, his hands rubbing his temples. “Anna, most art students have tattoos.”

 

She raised a finger at him, “Yes, but not all of them.”

 

“He said you looked pretty." He gestured to the painting leaning against her wall. "In the portrait. Wanted to know if you were my girlfriend.” Castiel tried to hide his smile. He knew Dean was fishing to see whether or not he was single and/or liked girls. If he were in Dean's position (and had a little more confidence) he would have done the same thing.

 

He heard a click and looked up to see Anna behind her Nikon lens.

 

She sighed faux-wistfully as she inspected the picture. “Ah, young love. Makes a good picture.”

 

Castiel stared at her and pursed his lips.

 

She looked up at him, whipping her red bangs out of her face and asked, “Do you think you’ll see him again?”

 

“It’s not a small campus.”

 

“Is that a no?”

 

Castiel laughed. He kissed her on her forehead. “I have to go to class. I’ll call you when I get out so we can have your birthday dinner with Gabriel. Any restaurant ideas?”  

 

The Novaks were not huge party people. If they had a big gathering it would be because of a political event, because of their parents. Even from a young age, they were used to big family dinners instead of parties, to the dismay of the little ones. Now that three of the Novaks were separated from the rest of their family, they celebrated every birthday with dinner at a nice restaurant.

 

She patted her lips thoughtfully and replied; “I was thinking French cuisine for this year. You can stick a candle in a crème brûlée.”

 

“I’ll make the reservation.” Castiel slung his backpack over his back. “Talk to you later, birthday girl.”

 

Anna adjusted herself on her bed so she could snap another quick photo of Castiel on his way out of her small dormitory.

* * *

* * *

 

 

On his way to class, Castiel was careful to look around every corner so that he wouldn’t miss Dean if he crossed his path. He was so observant on his walk that he almost walked into a street sign and at least three pedestrians. Castiel was sure that if he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings that Dean would again catch him off guard, and he wanted to be ready this time.

 

Castiel finally arrived at the studio a few minutes late because he was walking so slowly. His coveted seat in the back of the classroom was taken by some half-asleep bro wearing a drug rug. Instead, Castiel took the stool that was just a tad too close to the subject they were painting.

 

He pulled out his set of paintbrushes, running his fingers over the hair of each one to make sure they were clean. He set them on the small side table next to his canvas. He also pulled out his set of slightly messy looking tubes of oil paints, his favorite medium. Castiel had a knack for meshing his colors together, his inspiration being the great impressionist painters Monet and Renoir and Cézanne and Degas…and for this he required oil paints. He liked to come back in the evenings when the studio was empty and continue to blend and form the intricacies of the person he was painting. Castiel got extensions on almost all of his assignments because it took him a long time to get everything just right. His professors, at this point, were used to Castiel’s higher standards for himself, and gladly accepted his assignments late.

 

He squeezed a few of his paints on his palette, already preparing to mix them. His professor stood up, and started talking about how to convey a sense of vulnerability in the nude portrait. Castiel felt this was self-explanatory; he was only taking this studio art class as a requirement to graduate.

 

Castiel filled a cup with turpentine for thinning his paints, and heard the door of the classroom creak open.

 

“Can I come in yet, Professor?” The familiar voice made Castiel’s head snap up.

 

Still clad in those ripped jeans and maroon button down, stood Dean Winchester.

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Cas whispered under his breath.

 

Dean locked his green eyes on the front row student. He raised an eyebrow at him, and flashed him a knowing smile.

 

The professor slapped a hand on Dean’s broad shoulder and introduced him, “Today’s subject is Dean, and he’s got some interesting body art that will hopefully inspire your portraits. He’ll be in here for the next hour, so after that you’ll all be working from memory.”

 

He gestured to a coatrack to the side of the platform in the middle of the room. “If you feel comfortable, you can hang your clothes there. Whenever you’re ready, Dean.” He patted him again. He said louder to the rest of the classroom, “I’ll be in my office next door if anyone needs me.”

 

The rest of the class seemed to be shifting in their seats, pulling out their paints and brushes, getting comfortable like they would any other afternoon, but Castiel sat in the front, entirely frozen.

 

Dean looked like he was in his element. He dropped his bag to the floor and took off his maroon button down, hanging it on the rack. It revealed a few more tattoos on his biceps and upper arms, most notably a stone angel in prayer on his right arm.

 

Castiel studied the tattoos, trying to read the fine print around the angel, and Dean caught his eye again. Dean pulled the grey v-neck over his head, balling it up and throwing it on the floor. He stretched to purposely show his well-toned chest and core.

 

Dean unconsciously licked his lips at Castiel and unbuckled his belt, kicking off his boots. Castiel straightened his back in his chair, and fiddled with his brushes.

 

The tattooed man dropped his jeans to the floor, nudging them to the coat rack along with his socks. He stepped onto the well-lit platform, and sat down on the chair provided for him.

 

“Oh, god.” Cas gasped, running his eyes over the expanse of Dean’s body. Dean winked at Castiel and the brushes slipped out of his hands. His face turning beet-red, Castiel scrambled to pick up his paintbrushes.

 

Cas was just too close to Dean as he sat naked on the platform. Castiel took a breath.

 

Even though his head was throbbing with his heartbeat, he reminded himself that he only had an hour to paint him. He pulled himself together and got to work, spreading and smudging a figure together.

 

He understood what the professor meant by vulnerability, and forced himself to look past the… _cockiness_ that Dean exuded. He watched Dean watch him, his emerald eyes flickering across Cas’ furrowed brow, as if he was asking if he was doing it right. Cas gave him a small nod in encouragement and Dean’s shoulders loosened.

 

He relaxed as his hands as he touched paint to canvas. Suddenly, Dean didn’t seem so intimidating. 

 


	3. Bordighera

A chill moved over Dean’s bare skin.

 

He shifted in the hard wooden chair. The reality of sitting in front of his from-afar lover made him just sweaty enough that his ass and thighs stuck to the seat.

 

In truth, he had seen Castiel around campus a lot, but the man was entirely oblivious to his presence. Dean had to work a lot of odd jobs around campus to pay for living expenses and tuition for art school, plus to send Sammy some money once in a while. He currently held down a job waiting tables on weeknights, working in the bookstore between classes and as a tattoo artist at a small shop on weekends. This afternoon his own class was cancelled, so he took Sam’s (sarcastic) advice to try nude modeling for money.

 

The first time Dean had met Castiel was at the beginning of the semester, when Cas was buying new paints. Dean was ringing his paints up, and tried to make a joke about the sheer number of tubes he was buying, but Cas didn’t laugh. He seemed to be late for something or stressed, rushing to get out of the bookstore, never making eye contact with Dean. He mumbled a “Thank you” when Dean handed back his credit card.

 

The second time they _almost_ came into contact was when Cas sat down in Dean’s drawing class in front of him. Dean had recognized him by the brown mess of hair that was only partially matted in the back. He had only unpacked a notebook before he frantically looked at the room number above the door and bolted out.

 

So when Dean saw the stubborn, constantly busy man slowly making his way up the winding staircase in the dorms, he knew that it was his chance to be noticed.

 

Dean savored being purely _seen_ for the first time, even if Cas was too stubborn to accept his help at first. Dean could tell Cas was serious about his art: Cas had studied his face like he would need to reconstruct every angle of his jaw, the shadows that his dimples made on his cheeks. Cas seemed to have no time for other areas of his life, living in a perpetual state of hurry, but his mastery of the difficult medium of watercolors showed he had patience in the important things.

 

Now, Cas was doing exactly that. His brow furrowed in concentration, he moved his brush swiftly over the canvas, sculpting the angles of Dean’s face.

 

Dean couldn’t help but smile. He loved how Cas’ thick lips were pursed and his bright blue eyes flicking back and forth between Dean and the canvas.

 

He silently thanked Sam for being a smartass and suggesting that he model nude. He already had an inflated sense of self, but the look on Cas’ face when Dean dropped his pants was one that he wanted tattooed on his memory. Cas looked positively flushed. He felt proud…and started planning how he would get Cas to make that face again…in a vastly different context.

Dean decided he would leave that part out from the phone call Sammy would eventually get from him about this interesting turn of events.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sitting under the hot lights for an hour felt like an eternity.

 

It wasn’t so bad if Dean focused on his own mental rendition of drawing Cas. Dean never considered himself a good painter or sculptor, but he had a talent for clear and concise lines. He loved pencil or pen drawings, and that came in handy as an artist at a tattoo parlor. Dean had an easy time mentally scribbling Cas’ face and hair, but as he got to the neck area he had the dull desire to undress him. He mentally postponed drawing the rest of Castiel’s body. That way, they would be even.

 

Finally, the fluorescent overhead lights in the studio were flipped back on, and he was suddenly very aware of his nakedness. He jumped down from the platform and immediately pulled on his pants. He threw on the rest of his clothes as the professor thanked him on behalf of the class (which got a few giggles from first-year girls chatting in the corner) and announced the due dates for the assignment they started.

 

Art students trudged in a mass through the exits of the studio. Dean pulled on his boots and slung his bag over his shoulder, scanning the group for Castiel. He caught a glimpse of his messy hair and ran for it, pushing through the crowd toward him.

 

“I knew I’d see you again,” Dean called to him, interrupting Cas’ distracted train of thought. Dean nudged him in the side. “What, you won’t wait for me after class?”

 

“Forgive me if I don’t believe seeing you naked categorizes us as dating.” Cas sounded businesslike, but Dean was bent on coaxing the smile all the way out of his perfect lips. They left the building and made it onto the crowded sidewalk.

 

“No, we’d have to go on a date first to be dating.” Dean skipped in front of Cas and spun around, so that he was walking backwards in front of him, beaming as he did so.

 

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean.

 

“Come on, how about tonight? I’ll take you out to the best spots in Chicago.” Dean walked backwards into someone, yelling an apology at them as they passed.

 

“I have plans tonight.” Cas grumbled, and Dean detected a hint of regret.  
  
“So do I,” Dean remarked, raising his arms, “But I’ll cancel if you do. Let’s go out tonight, you and me, Cas.”

 

Dean almost whooped when Cas smiled, dropping his head shyly to his feet. “Dean, I really can’t. I have plans.”

 

He looked up to see Dean was still smiling broadly at him. His eyes twinkled and he asked, “So another night? How about tomorrow?”

 

Cas offered him another smile. “Maybe, Dean. I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He jumped out of the tide of pedestrians to cross the street perpendicular to where Dean was headed.

 

“What, I can’t even get your number?” Dean called from across the street.

 

“I know you’re capable of finding me!” Cas yelled back, before striding down the street. He looked back once to see Dean standing bewildered on the corner.

 

Dean checked his watch. He needed to hurry if he was going to shower before work.


	4. Cafè Terrace at Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Cas in this chapter. Mostly just Dean chillin, but I promise a new chapter will be posted soon with him in it!

Sam wouldn’t stop laughing on the phone. Dean had straight up been listening to him laugh for about three minutes now. _This_ was why he usually just told Charlie about these things.

 

Between breaths, Sam strained, “And he was sitting right in front? And you were naked?”

 

“Well—“

 

Sam was laughing again. Dean rolled his eyes and hit speakerphone on his cell so he could get dressed in his all-black uniform. He checked himself out in the mirror, fixing his wrinkled collar.

 

Sam finally stopped and caught his breath. Over the speakerphone, he said, “I’m sorry Dean, but you’ve been talking about this guy all semester and THIS is the impression you make on him?”

 

“Remind me again why I’m telling you about this?” Dean yelled towards the phone.

 

Sam chuckled. You could basically hear his smile over the phone. Dean knew he was genuinely happy for him, but before Sam would admit it, he would do his duty as a younger brother and tease him as much as possible.

 

“Hey, at least you now know the name of your unicorn.”

 

Dean made a face. “My unicorn?”

 

“It’s a term we use at Stanford to describe someone that you see around campus who you like and think is out of your league, but you really want to talk to them.” Sam ended proudly, “Cas is your unicorn.”

 

Dean grabbed the phone off of his dresser and switched off the speakerphone. He held the phone between his shoulder and his ear and tied his shoes.

“That’s just adorable, Sam. But even if he is out of my league I know he’s into me. Trust me.” He thought back to Cas’ little gulp when he was painting him in class.

 

Dean heard Sam scoff on the other end of the phone. He heard a ruffling through of papers. “Of course he is, Dean. Okay, I have a presentation to prepare for so I’m gonna go.”

 

“Presentation on what?”

 

Sam sighed. “The influence of Greek and Roman mythos on the classic science fiction novel.”

 

Dean laughed and grabbed his house keys. “Sounds awesome.”

At a young age Sam developed a voracious appetite for reading and writing. Sam was always excited to show Dean his latest short stories, and he was always exceedingly proud.

 

Dean knew it was how they were raised. After their mother died, their father didn’t like to stay in one place for longer than two months. The Winchesters constantly moved around and he picked up work as a handyman. In response, the boys steeped themselves in their hobbies. Dean would draw anything and everything while Sam would immediately find the library. Once, Dean hadn’t seen Sam for two days and got worried. He bolted to the library, where he found a beaming, sleep-deprived Sam sitting behind a big-box computer.

 

He had insisted, “One more chapter, Dean. I swear I’ll come home after I write one more chapter.” His fingers vigorously tapped across the keyboard.

 

Dean just shook his head and grabbed a Vonnegut, sitting on a couch in the library until Sam was satisfied with his work.

 

Sam had won a writing contest with that story, and bought himself a laptop to type on. He took it everywhere he went, always

 

Dean double checked himself in the mirror and smoothed the front of his black outfit. Dean slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. “Knock ‘em dead, kid. I’m on my way to work.”

 

Sam laughed. “Talk to you later.”

 

Dean bounced down the stairs, “Alright, talk to you later.” He clicked his phone off and slid it into his pocket.

 

* * *

 

“You need to stop running to work.” Charlie rifled through her bag and handed Dean a stick of deodorant. “You smell like a wet dog.”

 

Dean unwillingly took the Ocean Breeze Speed Stick out of her hand. “I don’t smell. I just showered.” He unbuttoned his black dress shirt and exposed his white undershirt.

 

Charlie cringed. “Dean. It’s that old t-shirt you have on under. Take it off.”

 

He took off his dress shirt entirely and handed it to her. Dean pulled his undershirt over his head, and he agreed with her as it grazed his nose. She was right. He had forgotten to wash it. He crumpled it into his backpack and put on the deodorant anyway.

 

After he put his shirt and tie back on, Charlie smelled his shoulder. “Ah. Ocean breeze. Much better. You would’ve cleared out my customers, and I would have no money for my flawless Tauriel costume replica.”

 

They walked out of the employee’s locker room together, with Charlie hooking their arms together. She often called him her “platonic husband.”

 

Dean bowed his head to ask, “Who the hell is…”

 

“She’s from the Hobbit movie. A kickass archer elf-chick, so basically all the things I aspire to be.”

 

Dean laughed. They leaned against the bar in the restaurant, which wasn’t yet packed with people. The restaurant, Bistro Campagne, opened 7 minutes ago and so far a handful of older couples had trickled in for 5:30 reservations. Dean estimated that they had approximately 5 minutes before the wait staff was swarmed with orders. They were rated very highly on Zagat and Yelp, as their manager liked to remind them.

 

Charlie pointed to a young couple. “Okay, Dean. Do your Sherlock thing.”

 

They had become friends this way, in between drink orders.

 

Dean was supposed to train Charlie, the girl who had “never” had a job before. (Once they became better friends she divulged her secret about being a skilled hacker/computer genius. WITH a good amount of funds for living expenses, but it started to look suspicious to the government that she was unemployed for so long.)

 

But while she followed him around the restaurant, Dean made her small bets about the relationships of their customers. If he was feeling lucky, he would guess their meal orders, too.

 

He said with a cocky grin, “Come on, give me a challenge.” He studied the young couple from afar.

 

He watched the clean-shaven student pull out the chair for his blonde date. His hair was matted down with gel and his clothes looked like they were brand new. Dean grinned when he saw a tag hanging off the seat of his pants. “First date.” She smiled with her mouth closed at him. “She’s nervous. Won’t make eye contact.”

 

The boy gave the girl a wide smile. Dean nodded to Charlie, “Romeo over there has liked Juliet for a good amount of time.”

 

Charlie put her hands up. “Nuh-uh. No Romeo and Juliet references.”

 

“What should I call them, then?”

 

She paused. “Han and Leia.”

 

“Nerd. Okay. So say Han likes this girl, a lot. He thinks she’s out of her league. Which is why he has a 5:30 reservation. He didn’t think to make the reservation in advance.”

 

“Dean, that is so cute. So does she like him?”

 

He watched her twirl her long blonde hair around her finger. “Definitely. But she’s probably not a fan of French food. She’ll order a salad, definitely the Salade de Pommes because it’s sweet, even though she’d much rather be at a burger place. And let’s be honest, who wouldn’t?”

 

“How do you know she wants a burger?”

 

He nodded her head in Leia’s direction. She was looking over the menu. “The finger tapping. She’s hungry, but her lips are pursed. She doesn’t want anything on the menu.”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Sure. We’ll see.” She walked over to their table to get their drink orders and give them the specials of the day. She poured them two waters from the steel pitcher she was holding.

Dean watched her scribble their orders on her pad. When she turned to walk to the kitchen she smiled and nodded at him.

 

Passing him, she said, “Salade de Pommes and a Croque Monsieur.”

 

He pumped his fist to say _score._

 

* * *

 

Dean cursed the dress shoes he was supposed to wear as part of his uniform. Yes, they were broken in after many long evenings on his feet, but they were too still hard with poor support. He made a mental note to buy foot support insoles.

 

He was behind the bar getting two whiskey sours and a gin and tonic for one of his tables, when Charlie tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a smiling pair that was being seated in Dean’s section.

 

“What’s their story?”

 

“Brother and sister. Artists. Notice the way the redhead holds her hands; she’s itching to take a picture. And he’s definitely an actor, with the way he keeps gesturing.”

 

“He could just be an animated talker.”

 

“No way, he does this for a living. They’re probably celebrating something.” 

 

Charlie scoffed, “Half the people that come here are celebrating something.”

 

“Fine, uhh…birthday, whatever. He’s paying. You can tell by his suit.”

 

“Go find out.” She slapped him on the back as he walked away with his tray of drinks and distributed them.

 

He walked up to the couple’s table and filled their glasses from his water pitcher. He said in his most polite waiter voice, “I’m Dean, and I’ll be your waiter tonight. Would you like to hear our specials tonight?”

 

A smile spread across the thin lips of the dark haired man. “Well, Dean-o. We’re actually waiting for our third member, so instead of giving us your specials right now, I’d like to get some alcohol in my sister’s system.” He smiled up at him.

 

Dean cocked his head to the side and took out his notepad. He chuckled nervously. “I can definitely get some drinks for you.” He turned to look at the smiling redheaded girl sitting across from the dark haired smartass. He had a dull sense that he knew her. He prayed that she wasn’t a one-night-stand he was forgetting. “Miss?”

 

The man coughed. “Call her birthday girl.”

 

“ _Gabriel._ ” She scolded playfully.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “Would the birthday girl like anything to drink?”

 

She leaned forward and murmured to Gabriel, “Are we getting wine?”

 

“This is your day, get whatever you like.” At the word _whatever_ he made a flourish at the wrist.

 

She shrugged excitedly. “I will have a glass of the Pouilly-Fumé, please.”

 

Dean stared at her for a second too long. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know her. He snapped out of it and wrote down her order. He looked expectantly at Gabriel.

 

“I will have a glass of your Sauternes and my brother will have a glass of your Bourgogne. Merci.”

 

Dean scribbled that down. His gaze lingered on the face of the girl as he said, “I’ll be back with your wines.”

Dean put in their wine orders with the sommelier, and tried to mentally place her face. Her hair especially stood out to him.

 

He walked back out to the main restaurant hall with three glasses of wine and set them down on their table. When he turned around to serve another table, he heard a gruff voice growl, “Sorry I’m late, Anna.”

 

Dean remembered where he had seen her before.


	5. Houses at Auvers

Castiel had gone to the wrong French restaurant. 

Technically it wasn’t his fault at all. He had taken a leisurely walk to the restaurant after stopping at a store for a bottle of celebratory champagne. Only after he gave his name to the hostess he realized that Gabriel’s vague description of the restaurant had sent him to the wrong bistro. 

“Cassie, I just made us a reservation for 7:00 at that nicer French place downtown.”

Cas was planning on making the reservation himself, but the restaurant he had in mind that morning wasn’t “French enough” for Gabriel’s newly upscale tastes. 

He looked at his watch. It was 5:30. He decided not to ask how Gabriel had managed to get the reservation, which probably involved hitting on the hostess and/or faking the death of the previous reservation holder. 

“Which French place?” Castiel asked, trying to mat his hair in some way that would be appropriate for the nice restaurant they were headed to. 

“The one, you know, near your apartment.”

“My dorm?” 

“Yeah. The bistro.”

Castiel sighed. He thought he knew which one Gabriel was talking about, and it’s not like he was to be bothered to remember details. Besides, they had been to the French place by his dorm before, when he first moved to Chicago. 

“Oh, Gabriel Novak?” The hostess had flipped her brown hair over her shoulder with a perky smile. “I’d know if he made a reservation. Tell him Britney says hey.”

Castiel nodded slowly and backed out of the crowded restaurant. 

Finally, he got to Bistro Campagne by jogging through the pedestrians and simultaneously using the GPS on his phone. Out of breath, he pushed through the small crowd blocking the doorway of the restaurant and was escorted to their table in the middle of the restaurant. 

Castiel noticed that this restaurant was beautiful, but still very cozy. The wait staff walked around in all-black semi-formal attire, and the lot of them was almost model-level attractive. The wide windows gave them a perfect view of the twinkle lights that lit the street outside. It was classic, good mood lighting inside and soft colors that made them feel at home, if their home was a French cottage. 

He hoped Gabriel was paying, because he for sure couldn’t afford it. Castiel adjusted his light grey suit jacket that didn’t match his wine-colored slacks and hoped he’d look modern instead of lazy. 

He kissed Anna on the head and apologized for being late. 

“I brought us champagne,” Cas started, putting the brown-paper bag on the table, “But I see you already ordered us wine.”

Gabriel smiled at his brother and gestured to the seat with an untouched glass of red wine in front of it. “Champagne is more of a dessert drink, anyway. Is that why you were late?”

Cas unbuttoned his jacket and sat next to Anna. “I’m late, Gabriel, because you gave me unclear directions. You know there are four French restaurants that can be considered ‘downtown?’” 

He lifted his glass to his tiffed brother. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Cheers for that.” 

Anna offered Cas a look that said something like, Don’t argue, you’ll lose. 

Begrudgingly, Castiel and Anna lifted their own glasses in response. 

“What kind of wine is this?” Castiel said, putting his glass down. 

“One that’ll go well with your red meat.” 

Cas looked at Anna and back to Gabriel. “How did you know I was going to eat red meat?” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Cassie that’s all you ever eat.” 

He was, in fact, seriously considered eating that for dinner, but had balked at the inflated prices. “As long as you’re paying.” 

Gabriel laughed so loud that a few other patrons turned around from their meals. “Of course I am. Do you think I’d let my two broke-ass art student siblings pay? This one’s on me, your highly successful older brother.” He made a grand gesture: arms outspread.

Anna giggled. Castiel rolled his eyes and bowed his head over the menu. Strip steak and frites it was. 

“Ready to order?” 

Cas’ head shot up and he gaped at the green-eyed waiter standing over them. His stomach flopped over.   
This was the third time today. 

“Cas?” Gabriel waved in front of him, “Snap out of it.” 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I see you weren’t lying about having plans.” 

Cas nodded at him, his face heating up. “I knew I’d see you again, Dean.” Just not at my sister’s birthday dinner. He added to himself. 

Anna gawked at Dean and said to Cas, “That’s him?” 

Dean raised his eyebrows at Castiel, “Oh, you’re talking about me now?” He smirked at Anna, “I hope only good things.” 

Cas looked at him with his mouth slightly agape, still stunned. 

“I’m sorry, can I order, or are you two gonna make googly eyes at each other all night?” Gabriel was smiling, which suggested that he was deeply enjoying this awkward encounter. Cas had the sinking feeling that he was going to have to explain himself as soon as Dean walked away. 

Dean snapped back into courteous waiter mode. “Well our specials for today are a lobster bisque, seared lamb medallions topped with rosemary, cumin and an eggplant tapenade, and finally duck breast and confit leg with a plum ginger sauce.” 

Anna said confidently, “I’ll have the Tarte aux Champignons.” 

“The duck special sounds fantastic,” Gabriel winked at Dean, “Thanks, Dean-o.”

“And you?” Dean smiled at Cas while watching him send a heated glare in his brother’s direction.

“Um,” Cas squinted at the menu, “I’d like the strip steak and frites. Please.” His stressed brow softened, relaxed under Dean’s attentive expression. 

“Red meat, man after my own heart.” Dean wrote it on his pad and cocked his head. “I’ll have those orders out to you soon.” He threw a happy glance in Cas’ direction. 

Cas nearly swooned as Dean walked away in his tight black slacks. 

Anna and Gabriel simultaneously leaned in to barrage Cas with questions.   
“THAT’S DEAN?”  
“Cassie, where do you know our hot waiter from?”  
“You said he was cute I didn’t think he was THAT cute.”   
“Anna, you knew about this?”  
“They met this morning!” 

“Stop, stop, stop.” Cas tried to shush them. They were in a nice restaurant, after all. 

“Cas, this is exciting. You haven’t dated anyone in years.” Anna gripped his arm. She was sweet. Her worry was misplaced, though. Castiel had preferred being alone, it was easier and he could focus on his art. He had no room in his apartment for a significant other. Even though he lived in the biggest apartment in his dorm, it was always messy and cluttered. He never brought anyone home to see it. 

It took Castiel a second to correct her. He sputtered out, “We’re not dating, Anna.” 

“Yet.” Gabriel said as he took a sip of his wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this was a short chapter. I had to post this part immediately though, I'm still working on what can be considered the second half. It's on its way soon! (bout a day's wait :))


	6. Noirmoutier

The rest of the meal went on as Cas imagined it would.

 

Armed with the knowledge that Cas and Dean have “ogled” each other before, Gabriel made a series of vaguely inappropriate jokes to Cas’ red-faced dismay.

 

Anna smiled all throughout dinner, enjoying the company of her ridiculous brothers. They balanced each other out. Cas could be very serious, maybe a little existential for a light dinner conversation, but her brother Gabriel would cause a ruckus in the restaurant if he went unchecked. She felt at home, a rare feeling after moving away from home for school in the past August.

 

Castiel ordered her a crème brûlée for dessert, complete with a flickering pink candle. It was too nice of a place for them to sing “happy birthday” for every customer, but Gabriel was more than persuasive and Cas had _some_ pull with a certain member of the wait staff.

 

Castiel beamed as Dean gathered the available waiters to sing a soulful rendition of happy birthday, with Dean himself harmonizing (poorly). Anna blew out her candle and the restaurant clapped. Dean poured their champagne in crystal glasses and left the bottle in an ice bucket on the table with a wink so they could enjoy their dessert. Cas knew it was also to spare him of Gabriel’s teasing.

 

Gabriel pays the bill, adding a bit of drama at first by pretending he forgot his wallet. (“Kidding! God, you two are so easy it’s not even _fair._ ”)

 

The trio got up to leave, to take a walk together in the crisp December air. It was still early enough in the month for them to be fine in their light jackets, but in a week it would be too biting for them to walk around at all.

 

Cas loved the cold. His favorite season was autumn because of the changing leaves, the blurring of the colors on Chicago’s landscape. Still, there was something about the feeling of cleanliness that came with snow and cold. In the thick of winter, armed with the excuse that he didn’t want to go outside, he would leave his window ajar and paint. When Cas became tired, he would put popcorn in the microwave oven, swaddle himself in blankets and fall asleep watching movies.

 

Cas scanned the heads of the crowded restaurant, looking for Dean to say goodbye. He couldn’t see him anywhere, and Anna was hooking her arm in his to exit the restaurant together. His head kept turning to the side as they left, trying to catch a glimpse of those dazzling green eyes.

 

They walked out together, ready to face the chilly evening with a walk back to Anna’s dorm.

 

Castiel frantically patted his pockets. He stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk.

 

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Anna asked, her eyebrows creasing together.

 

He felt the inside of his jacket. “I think I left my phone in the restaurant.”

 

He pecked Anna on the cheek and backtracked. “I’ll only be a minute.”

 

Castiel jogged back to the crowded restaurant. He couldn’t deny that he was excited to go back.

 

Cas walked purposefully to their table, and saw Dean picking up the checkbook that they left there.

 

Dean looked up and met his eyes. He smiled in relief, and Cas’ heart was almost audible through his chest.

 

“Forgot my phone.” Cas picked up his cell that was left squarely next to his table setting.

 

Dean nodded and pursed his lips.

 

Cas made a snap decision. Fuck serendipity.

“Give me your hand.” Cas moved in closer to Dean, taking a pen out of Dean’s pocket.

 

Dean was startled by his sudden proximity. “What?”

 

“Your hand, Dean.” He held out his hand.

 

Cas wrote down his number on Dean’s palm. It tickled.

 

He held eye contact with a bewildered Dean, and growled, “I’m free Friday night. I’ll meet you in the academic quad at 7PM. You can plan our date.”

 

He replaced the pen.

 

“Oh-okay. I’ll see you then?” Dean smiled slowly.

 

Cas nodded. “See you then.” He walked out of the restaurant to re-join his family.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

“Holy shit.” Dean mumbled, still holding up his hand and watching the entrance of the restaurant.    

 

Charlie kicked him in the butt playfully with her foot as she passed him bearing a tray of drinks.

  
“Snap out of it, loverboy!”

 

He moved, and flashed her a small smile, but his eyes were fixed on his hand where Cas had scribbled his name and those glorious ten digits. He almost couldn’t believe what had just happened. Dean half-thought he’d have to chase Castiel around all of Chicago before he got his number, and longer before a date.

 

“Dean?”

 

Charlie was still standing just past him, looking at him curiously. Dean rubbed his eyes and blinked away whatever doubts he had. He got a date with his unicorn (he cursed himself for using Sam’s childish nickname for it, but it was a little cute) and he couldn’t be happier.

 

“I heard you, drill sergeant.” He saluted her with a lazy smile.

 

She smiled back, “At ease, soldier.” She saluted and spun back to her task, her red ponytail whipping around her shoulder.

 

* * *

Dean finished wiping down the counter and promptly swished the dirty rag into a bucket behind the bar. He checked his hands, which were wet from the residual alcohol that was spilled over the course of the evening, and dried them on his pants.  They were black, and he’d meant to do his laundry tonight anyway.

 

He went to the back of the restaurant, and grabbed his backpack out of the 13th red locker. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, and reached into Charlie’s locker to grab her gym bag.

 

Charlie ran into the locker room, almost slamming into Dean as she did.  He draped the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder. Usually on nights they worked a shift together they would make their way home side by side. Dean lived just a few blocks past Charlie’s apartment.

 

They walked out of the restaurant and wrapped their light jackets tighter around their bodies. Charlie linked arms with Dean.

 

“You’ve just had the most _exciting_ day, huh?” Charlie, of course, was referring to his triple meet-cute day with Cas.

 

Dean bowed his head and chuckled, holding up his written-on hand so she could admire it. “Cas wants me to plan the date on Friday. Where the hell am I gonna take him?”

 

Charlie shrugged, “You could do your usual dinner-and-a-movie date.”

 

“That’s not exciting enough. He’s…different. What else you got?”

 

“Well my next suggestion would be to hit Harvelle’s Diner, but that’s obviously not good enough.”

 

Dean smiled, but shook his head. “He’s definitely not going to meet Bobby or Ellen yet. No way.”

 

Charlie giggled. “Fine. Why not do something chick-flick worthy?” She linked her arm around Dean’s.

 

“Like what, ice skating in Millennium Park?”

 

Charlie raised her eyebrows at him. “That would work. It _is_ December, and you are a fantastic ice skater.”

 

Dean clicked his tongue. “That I am.” He zipped his jacket up a little higher as an icy breeze blew through. “Ice skating and hot chocolate it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, and this chapter isn't at all satisfying, but I swear I'm writing their first date now! Schoolwork has been a mess.


	7. Melting Snow, Fontainebleau

Dean was shaking so much he felt like he was going to jump out of his own skin. He kept thinking he was hungry or dehydrated, so he drank about three bottles of water and whatever leftovers he had in his fridge, but the nervous feeling wouldn’t subside.

 

He ran to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Dean looked at himself in the mirror, his tanned face unusually pale. “Pull yourself together.” He said to his reflection. “It’s just a date.” He smushed his face between his hands and took a few deep breaths. “Get yourself _the fuck_ together.”

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, and tried to button his flannel shirt again. His outfit was entirely pre-approved by Charlie, who stopped by earlier when he wasn’t home, picked his lock and set out all of his clothes down to his underwear (“A little too thorough there, Charlie.” “You’ll thank me later.” She had said when he caught her leaving and demanded an explanation.) 

 

She wouldn’t let him wear the flannel at all if it hadn’t matched the green and brown scarf she brought. And the forest green beanie she picked out also matched the scarf, so that he “didn’t look like some art hobo.” The green in the scarf and beanie brought out the green in his eyes, Charlie had noted.

 

“You’ll look more like a domesticated cowboy.” She resolved, pecking him on the cheek as she ran out of his spotless apartment.  Domesticated cowboy…whatever that means.

 

After he showered, Dean could only button up half his plaid shirt before he had to take a break for water.

 

Now, he left the bathroom again and pulled on a pair of clean blue jeans, and started to re-attempt to button the top half of his shirt. His phone whistled.

 

**big date 2night?** **J**

It was Sam. He swiped the screen and tapped the keyboard to respond.

 

**getting ready now. should’ve worn a sweater. buttons suck**

He shook his head and managed to get the top button clasped. Dean exhaled. After eating the container full of old lo mein noodles in his fridge he felt nauseous. _Christ._

He cursed himself. _Get your shit together, Dean._

Dean draped the green scarf over his collar and pulled on the green beanie. He half-regretted wearing the hat because his hair looked _damn_ good.

 

His phone chimed again when he was pulling on his shoes.

 

**relax. dnt break ur neck skating. send updates**

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s text and shoved his phone back in his pants, giving himself a final once-over in the mirror. Domesticated cowboy was definitely a strange category of style but it worked, thanks to Charlie. He _was_ an art student after all.

 

Dean grabbed his coat off the hook by the door and slipped out into the chilly hallway, making his way down to the crowded December sidewalk.

 

* * *

 

 

His hands shoved in his pockets to protect from the biting cold, Dean felt his phone buzz a few more times. He knew it was either Charlie or Sam, the only two people who texted him, and they demanded details about the date that hadn’t even begun.

 

Dean made his way around the cobblestone walkway that differentiated the campus from the rest of Chicago, and turned a corner to meet the anxious blue eyes of Castiel.

 

Cas was perched upright on a bench in the mostly-dead garden that sat in the middle of the academic quad, not at all bothered by the cold. He looked perfectly contented in the weather and winds that whipped around him and through his messy brown locks of hair. Dean gave him a once-over, and identified that his foot tapping and furrowed brow was the result of Dean’s one-minute tardiness. The incessant tapping immediately ceased when Dean caught his eyes from around the limestone building.

 

Castiel looked well put together, obviously ready for any type of date in his outfit. He wore a blue-striped white collared shirt under a dark grey sweater that looked _so soft._ Over his sweater he wore a black coat and half of the collar was sticking up, which Dean found absolutely adorable. Dean’s eyes travelled down Cas’ body as he stood up from the bench to greet him.

 

Dean couldn’t help but notice how Cas’ dark wash jeans hugged the man’s thighs. Of course, Dean quickly recovered by smiling like an idiot as Cas ran his fingers through his brown mop of curls as he walked.

 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean absentmindedly repositioned his forest colored beanie.

 

Cas greeted him with a small smile, “Hello, Dean.” His breath formed a little speech cloud in the air.

 

They stood in front of each other, a little too close for a handshake or pat on the back. Dean raised his arms for a hug and quickly dropped them before Cas could lean in, so they looked like they were performing an awkward mating dance.

 

Cas thankfully took the initiative to go for it again, giving Dean a quick hug. His squeeze warmed Dean from the inside out, making the chilly weather more bearable. They let go after a beat.

 

Dean took a breath that was made physical in the winter air. “Ready?”

 

Cas nodded eagerly.

 

They set off into the sharp Chicago night.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas tried a few times to get Dean to reveal their secret destination, but he was keeping it to himself. Every time Cas would ask him where they were going, Dean would just answer with another question about Cas’ childhood or favorite hobbies or anything else.

 

“Dean, seriously, where are we going? I’m not the biggest proponent of surprises.”

 

“So Castiel Novak, you said you moved here two and a half years ago. Where are you from originally?”

 

Cas sighed. He was obviously not going to win. “I’m from D.C, my parents are politicians.”

 

Dean laughed, “You don’t strike me as the preppy Washington-type.”

 

“I’m not, really.” Cas walked a little more to the right, as Dean walked in some sort of zigzag, and he didn’t want to end up walking in the street. “My older brother Michael was your typical preppy golden boy, but Gabriel, who you’ve met, liked to cause a lot of trouble.”

 

“That’s no surprise.” Dean interjected, recalling the dinner where he served the Novaks. Gabriel had left him an extra $5 tip “because of the work you do on your caboose.”

 

Cas finger-combed a stray curl back. “My parents just wanted us to be happy and independent. In Washington, they were considered a little…” He paused and his brow furrowed. Dean smirked and bumped into Cas again. “…unconventional.”

 

Dean scanned the sidewalks ahead of him. He didn’t want to get them lost on the first date. He steered Cas around a right turn in the direction of Millennium Park. Cas looked briefly startled, until Dean softened his grip on Cas’ arm. Slightly embarrassed, Dean dropped his hold. He cleared his throat.

“How so?”

 

“Well,” Cas started, rubbing the back of his neck, “They campaign for separate political parties, so they met a few times in debates. My parents were ruthless; they hated each other until they met at an inaugural ball. They describe it as this click. They still love to argue about politics, of course, but it makes it interesting for them.”

 

“Would I know them?”

 

Cas shrugged. “Maybe. My mother is a more prominent public figure than my father, who prefers the background.” He fished his cell phone our from his coat pocket, and scrolled through a digital photo album. He pulled out a picture of a smiling couple and handed the phone to Dean.

 

Dean recognized the face of the lively middle-aged woman, her blonde hair chopped and curled in at her shoulders. Her crisp black power suit juxtaposed her chipper attitude. Her smile extended through her entire face and made her eyebrows look surprised. The man that she was holding looked scruffy and more rumpled than she did. He had a full beard and mustache that complimented him, his brown hair streaked with grey. He was wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned. No jacket, no tie, he definitely looked more relaxed.

 

“Your mother is Rebecca Shurley? So he must be…” Dean thought back to the issue of the Chicago Tribune he read a week ago. “Chuck Shurley? Why is your last name Novak?” He handed Cas his phone back.

 

“My parents wanted us out of the public eye, so they chose the name when we were born.” He shrugged again. “They like Hitchcock movies.”

 

Dean nodded. So was Cas famous? He didn’t seem at all pampered or snobby. He knew that Cas had a job somewhere. He’d save this question for later. They were a few hundred feet from the entrance of the park. They walked past the Millennium Monument, a great steel structure, which gave Cas an obvious clue of the plan for their date.

 

They pushed through the gate of Millennium Park, and Dean led the pair of them toward a covered front desk in front of the outdoor ice-rink. A young woman with spiky hair was sitting behind it, wrapped in blankets and popping a wad of bright pink bubblegum.

 

Dean walked confidently toward her, and realized that Cas was frozen a few paces behind him.   


“You okay?” Dean asked, backtracking.

 

“Dean. I’ve never been on skates before.” Cas looked wide-eyed at the people skating laps around the rink.  

 

Dean’s stomach dropped. This was not exactly the romantic-comedy moment he was looking for. He put his hands on Cas’ upper arms, hoping to offer a bit of security.

 

“If you want to do something else, we could leave right now. Just say the word.” Dean looked at Cas steadily

 

Cas’ forehead wrinkled. After a beat, he nodded slowly, and said, “Let’s do it.”

 

Dean smiled, and led Castiel to rent out a pair of ice skates.


	8. The Ice Floes

On the ice, Castiel was a fish out of water. Or, rather if a fish tried to ice skate, Cas would be that fish.

  
He couldn’t get the hang of skating, at all. Dean tried coaching him, telling him it was just like sliding.

 

“Just slide, Cas.” Dean said, trying to reassure him, “Haven’t you ever walked on a hardwood floor with your socks on?”

 

Cas looked horrified as he held on desperately to Dean’s arm. “I don’t understand what you’re referring to.” He made a stride that was too far for him, and his hand slipped down to clench Dean’s jacket.

 

Dean laughed. Cas smiled. “Just, _slide._ ” Dean demonstrated by making a long stride, skating across the ice with grace. Cas was amazed at how easy he made it look. He tried to copy, momentarily letting go of his vice grip on Dean’s waist.

 

Cas slid backward suddenly, letting out a gasp. Reacting quickly, Dean’s arm flashed out and caught him. He steadied Castiel, drawing him up close to his body, while still trying to keep himself upright on the ice. Castiel’s eyes flitted around Dean’s face and the rink, very away of his near-injury. His hands closed on Dean’s shoulders, and Dean firmly pressed Cas’ back with one hand, the other still around his waist.

 

Dean held tight to Cas’ waist. “That was close.” He said, sliding on his skates in a circle to keep them both vertical.

 

Cas’ voice strained, “Dean, I don’t believe I’m very good at this.” His grip tightened on Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Relax, okay, Michelle Kwan?” Dean giggled, taking a few strides with Cas still attached to him, barely moving his feet.

 

Cas removed one of his hands so they were no longer facing each other, but he still held on for dear life with one hand. He took a spare moment to study Dean’s expression. He was taking great care to lead Cas around the rink, trying to keep him steady. “How did you get so good at this?” He asked.

 

Dean chuckled, and Cas enjoyed watching his eyes crinkle at the edges. “My Uncle Bobby ran an ice hockey league, which I was in through high school.” Dean re-adjusted his firm grip on Cas. He clicked his tongue. “Star player. Made him proud.”

 

He nodded. Of course he was the star player.

 

Cas started following his movements, making long, tentative strides. He wasn’t confident. “Dean. Dean. Dean.” He sputtered.

 

They were making strides together. Cas’ face morphed from his serious frown to look deliriously happy. He loosened his grip on Dean and moved his hand down, clasping Dean’s wrist. His outside arm was outstretched like a drunk trying to pass a sobriety test.

 

After another stride, Cas moved his hand down again. He smirked, and intertwined his fingers with Cas’, his palm surprisingly warm compared to Dean’s hands.

 

“See?” Dean said cheerfully, “I knew you’d get the hang of it!”

 

Cas beamed at him, his bright blue eyes glowing with his smile. He glided over the ice until his skate hit a patch of uneven ice, and he tumbled to the ground. Dean’s grip was too loose this time, so Castiel slipped right through his fingers.

 

“FUCK!” Cas yelled at a passing family, who were taken aback by the onslaught of garbled obscenities.

 

“godfuckingdamnit.” Dean mumbled, dropping to the ice to aid his date.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean held a pack of ice to Cas’ face as he sat on a bench proximate to the ice rink. After Cas took a spill, Dean got him to safety, removing his problematic ice skates as he sat on the bench. This was definitely not an ideal first date.

 

“I’m sorry this isn’t an ideal first date.” Dean offered, seated beside Castiel. He peeked under the ice pack that he held to his face. The wound was still fresh, so there was a slit of blood on his eyebrow, and his under-eye was just starting to turn a sunset of colors. “Ugh, God, Cas. This is such a bummer.” 

 

Cas smiled sadly at his date, guiding his hand over Dean’s so that he would put down the ice pack. “Dean. Relax. It’s all right.” He stood up and wobbled.

 

“Woah, hey there cowboy. You just got knocked on your ass. Be careful.” Dean wrapped his arm around Cas’ broad shoulders for balance.

 

He raised his hands defensively. “I’m _fine,_ ” Cas insisted. Dean looked at Cas’ exposed palms. They were spotted with blood. Dean’s heart sank.

 

He held Cas’ right hand, and gently ran his thumb over his marred hand. “Cas, I’m _so_ sorry.”

 

“Dean, trust me, I’m fine.” He intertwined his fingers with Dean’s, and took a few steps. He smiled and cocked his head towards the exit of the park. “Let’s go. The night’s not yet over.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas was relieved to be walking on land that didn’t feel like it was moving under every step. He was also very contented to be walking hand-in-hand with Dean towards a familiar eatery. Before their date, Cas had nervously snacked on the foods lying around his closet-like kitchen, but he could still go for something sweet and/or warm.

 

Cas looked beside him at Dean, whose eyes were darting around, probably trying to figure out where they were going. Cas gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as they turned a corner.

 

Cas nearly jumped when Dean cleared his throat to speak. Cas didn’t mind the quiet, he enjoyed just sharing silent, meaningful moments with certain people he felt comfortable with, but it seemed like it put Dean on edge. First date nerves, probably.

 

“I hope we’re going somewhere warm. I didn’t realize how cold it would get.”

 

“I can assure you that the temperature is adequate in the place we’re headed.” Cas glanced at his date, who wore a half-smile on his face.

  
“Only adequate? No better than adequate?”

 

Cas’ brow frowned in concentration, “I cannot recall the exact temperature of the café, but I’m sure it is neither too hot nor too cold. Quite adequate for an eatery.” 

 

“Oh, so we’re going to a café?” Dean used his free hand to adjust his green beanie.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You gotta give me more than that, Cas. What kind of food? Please don’t say French.” Dean sighed. “I’m so friggin sick of French food.”

 

Cas shook his head. “No French food, I promise.”

 

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, so quickly that Dean didn’t notice for a second. He was jerked back by Cas’ sudden pause.

 

“We’re here.” Cas frowned at the closed sign, which read that they were 30 minutes past closing. He turned to Dean, and said matter-of-factly, “They’re closed but I think I can still get us inside.” Cas rapped on the glass of the front door.

 

A curly haired girl was sweeping behind the counter, who smiled broadly when she saw Cas. He smiled back and waved, pointing at the closed sign, and then at Dean. She nodded, replaced the broom in the back of house and started speedwalking toward the door.

 

Dean finally got a good look at the small shop.

 

Above the door, in big bold, pink letters read:

 

**!Bang Bang!**

_Pie & Biscuits_

 

Dean’s jaw dropped as the girl unlocked the door for them, and he said, to no one in particular, “A _fucking pie_ shop _?”_


	9. Woman with a Parasol

Cas smiled at his date’s look of amazement. “Are you coming inside, or would you prefer to stand in the cold?”

If he had known that Dean would be this excited about a tiny hole-in-the-wall pie shop he would have planned the date in the first place.

Dean nodded vigorously and took a few steps into the café. He had heard of !Bang Bang! before, the pies were renowned around Chicago, but he had never had the pleasure of being there. Usually there was a line around the block, and Dean hadn’t had the patience to wait, no matter how good they might be. He couldn’t believe that his date could get them in past closing, when the shop was empty and queue-free.

This definitely earned Castiel some points. Maybe more points than those tight dark jeans he was wearing. Dean chuckled to himself. There was He pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Sam.

**dude. about to eat best pie in chicago. ur jealous**

He slipped his cell phone back into his jeans and took a moment to appreciate his surroundings. To take it all in.

Cas was hugging the curly haired girl as Dean stood in front of the door, looking around at the café’s décor. It was very rustic looking, with exposed brick walls and heavy Maplewood tables. Many of the chairs were stacked against the wall so the floor could be cleaned, but there was still a square table left out with three red chairs surrounding it.

Like any good rustic café, the menus on the wall behind the counter were written in pink chalk on chalkboards. They were offering biscuits and savory potpies and coffees and most importantly: pies.

Cas broke from the hug with the curly haired young woman and thanked her for letting them into the shop when they had obviously closed.

“Anything for you, Cas, I missed you!” Her voice sounded fruity, pleasantly deep and strong. Her nose crinkled when she smiled, and dimples emerged from her rich copper skin. It was contagious, and Cas couldn’t stop smiling in response.

She grabbed her light pink apron from off a nearby table and tied it haphazardly around her soft waist. You could tell she was a baker, her arms strong and athletic from rolling out miles of pastry, but she seemed so young. Though her body had all the markers of a lifetime of baking, her sunny disposition said that she thoroughly loved what she did. The work she did was hard, there was no doubt about that, but it was a labor of love.

She made her way around the marble counter and tucked a stray curl behind her ear with the back of her hand, leaving a swipe of powdered sugar on her cheek.

Cas walked up to the marble counter and tapped his fingers on the counter, looking over the menus and then into the glass display to his side that contained the remaining pies of the day.

“Do you still have the raspberry jam pie?” Cas asked in his low voice. It was his favorite.

She scoffed, “You of all people should know we sell out of that flavor almost immediately!”

They shared a laugh, and then paused. Cas to his side at Dean, whose eyebrows were still raised as his gaze was fixed on the treats under the glass display.

“Dean, you okay?”

He looked at Cas, eyes wide like a six year old on Christmas morning.

He shook himself out of his pie-induced trance, “I’m perfect.” Dean walked up to the counter and chuckled, splaying his fingers out to lightly graze Cas’ wrist. A gesture for security that Dean only half-thought about, but made Castiel move his head in a signature tilt. Dean’s eyes were not on him when he did this, and was still making sense of his surroundings.

“Sorry. Um, how are we…” Dean looked around at the empty café. “in here?”

The curly haired woman giggled, charmed by the moonstruck expression on his face. A pang of jealousy momentarily pumped through his veins…until Dean moved his hand around Cas’ to firmly hold it, while delicately rubbing his thumb over Cas’.

Cas smiled, relaxed and remembered the polite thing to do when meeting new people on a date. Social graces weren’t often at the top of his mind, which ususally got him scolded by his parents at their big dinner parties back home. “Dean, this is my good friend Sasha. I used to work for her before I left to work in the school’s gallery archives. She owns and runs this place. ”

Dean reached across the counter to shake her hand. Sasha wiped her powdered sugar coated hand on her apron before she shook his hand.

“Awesome to meet you.” Dean said, excited to meet the famous pie artist. He almost thanked her for years of service, as if she was a veteran serving the American public so selflessly.

Sasha smiled. “Nice to meet you, too.” She grinned at Cas, “Being in Cas’ company speaks highly of you!”

Cas bowed his head, simultaneously thankful for the compliment in front of his date and unwilling to be proud of an embarrassing work record. “Oh, stop it, Sasha.” He turned to Dean, “She remembers my time of employment very differently than I do.”

She threw her head back and her laugh rang in the air. She shook her head as she did so, and her tight, springy curls bounced with every little movement. It was hypnotic.

“Oh, I remember your time here.” She pointed to Cas as she told Dean, covering her mouth to the side like she was sharing a secret with him, “This one is the worst baker I’ve ever seen. We had at least two fires when he worked here.” She giggled as Dean looked accusingly at his date. Cas shrugged and turned pink. “Finally I had the good sense to give him prep and front-of-house work. Those big blue eyes work wonders on the tip jar.” She winked at Cas.

Dean grinned deviously at Cas and mouthed, Two fires?

Cas, still slightly pink, cleared his throat, “Sasha, may we have one slice of the chocolate pecan and a slice of…” he turned to Dean and murmured, “Does rhubarb sound good to you?”

Dean scoffed, “Fantastic.”

Cas smiled and turned back. “And one slice of the ginger rhubarb crumble…and two coffees please, Sasha.”

She nodded and tapped on the sticky-looking iPad that was being used as a register, connected to a cash drawer.

Both Dean and Cas pulled out their wallets.

Cas was a hair faster, sliding her a crumpled $20 bill. The iPad emitted an old-timey cha-ching sound effect when she tapped in the transaction. The cash box under the counter, out of sight, made a less stereotypical sound as it popped open: a squeak and the sound of stray coins sloshing in the drawer.

“Ah, come on.” Dean chided, still holding his credit card.

Castiel waved him off, smiling at Sasha as she gave him his change. “You paid for skating. This is my…” He searched for the word. What was that phrase? My gift to you…my… Oh! “treat.” He smirked, pleased with himself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dean let out a loud groan; dropping his fork on his plate so it made a sharp ding against the white china.

“Oh my god” Dean grumbled, rubbing his belly fondly. ‘That was everything I wanted it to be and more.” He washed down his mouthful of rhubarb with a drag of black coffee.

They had split the slices of pie, Castiel finishing most of the chocolate pecan. Dean had to remind him to slow down when he ate, finding the way Cas aggressively shoveled his food into his mouth as endearing as it was concerning.

“I’m glad the pie has your vote of satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction is an understatement.” He sucked rhubarb filling off of his forefinger with a smack of his lips. Then he wiped his hands on a brown paper napkin, conscious of Cas’ blue eyes transfixed on his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post! I had to deal with some ~personal issues~ and posting this new chapter just gave me this weird anxiety. ALSO: this chapter kept feeling wrong so i re-wrote it like 10 times. 
> 
> Also this new character Sasha is going to be included in the rest of the fic, outlining her and Cas' friendship, including a possible romance (????)). We'll definitely see more of her bubbly personality, so i hope you liked this little taste. 
> 
> BONUS: next chapter will be ;)


	10. Boulevard Montmartre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!!!! I swear i'll post more often now, i was feeling uninspired with no direction. Hope you enjoy!

Dean poured affection over Sasha, thanking her for the food she made them, for offering them asylum from the chill outside, for sharing her culinary skills, for keeping the place open, for the coffee, oh, and did he mention how good the pie was?

 

He must have hugged her three times before they left, including before and after she offered to send them into the cold with the remainder of the coffee in cardboard to-go cups. Each time she emitted a chuckle through Dean’s crushing embrace towards a bemused Castiel.

 

When Cas approached to give her a final goodbye hug, she held his arms and commanded, “My hospitality comes with a price: you have to start visiting me more. And not just for my food. I’m restarting Sash-stiel dinner and videogame nights.” She winked at Dean. “All are welcome.”

 

She turned back to a wide-eyed Cas. “Got it?”

 

He nodded seriously.

 

Her face melted, and her mocha skin dimpled with her smile. “Good. Don’t be a stranger.” She kissed his forehead and handed him his cardboard cup, _!Bang Bang!_ printed on the protective sleeve in pink script. 

 

Dean waved and smiled from the doorway. “Thanks again Sasha,” he repeated, pulling his hat down with his free hand to brace for the cold.

 

She locked the door behind them; the sound of the deadbolt clicking in place reverberated on the glass pane.

 

A breeze metaphorically kicked them in the pants, and they were left clutching their coffees like makeshift hand warmers on the sidewalk. 

 

Dean moved to close the gap between him and Castiel, feeling sobered post pastry-high by the sudden cold. Cas was pulled away from the sidewalk curb and street and into Dean’s roomy wool coat pocket.

 

They took a few steps, and Dean hesitantly offered, “I’m not quite ready to go home. It’s still pretty early.”

 

Cas’ cheeks were rosy from a lethal concoction of Dean’s warmth and the sharp air on his face. “I’m not either. What do you suggest we do?”

 

“Well we could catch a flick… or we could go to this great diner I know of.”

 

Cas’ brow furrowed. Dean still wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Or possibly it just meant confusion? But that made no sense. Wordlessly, they sidestepped around a speed-walking mother and her purple-scarf-and-hat-clad kid who was toddling a few steps behind her.

Dean broached the subject again, too anxious to wait for a response from his befuddled date. “What kind of movies do you like? We could go see this sci-fi movie I’ve been meaning to see.”

 

“We could see whatever you suggest, I have no preference.” He paused. “Honestly, Dean, I wouldn’t consider myself a movie enthusiast, but I do appreciate the art medium of film.”

 

Dean scoffed. “You’re not a _fan_ of _movies?”_ he sputtered. This is phrase he was unfamiliar with. “My brother and I love the movies. As a teenager I even _worked_ at a local theater for a year and snuck him in for evening showings.” 

 

Cas shrugged into Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t often go to the movies. I’ve seen a few with my sister Anna.” He chuckled. “My brother Gabriel likes to tease me about my pop culture handicap.”

 

“Was that the brother that hit on me?”

 

Cas nodded. They stepped over an uneven part of the sidewalk.

 

“You know what? Stick with me and you’ll be able to…speak Dothraki in no time.”

 

Thrilled that he might understand a reference, Cas guessed, “Is that Star Trek?”

 

Dean shook his head, “Close. You’re thinking of Klingon. Dothraki is a language from Game of Thrones.”

 

“Oh.”  A few of the other students in the dorm had communal Game of Thrones screenings in their common space.  Before every episode, they would argue for half an hour about how to properly set up the streaming services. This prompted him to put on his comically big sound-cancelling headphones.

 

Dean hooked his arm around Cas’, walking in time like they were conjoined twins, or a perfectly choreographed step team. Each accustomed to the other’s movements as well as the drum that beat out their proper rhythm.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said with a giggle and a nudge, hoping Cas’ constipated expression would morph into an easy grin.

 

“To the movies?” Cas suggested.

 

His date was about to smile and say something like, _bet your sweet ass._ Instead, he watched in slow motion as a burly businessman speaking into his smartphone slammed directly into Cas’ shoulder.

 

Still moving, he grimaced at their pink cheeks and interlocked arms. “Watch it.” The man growled at them.

 

Dean quickly spun and shouted at the retreating figure, “It’s polite to say ‘excuse me,’ you asshole!” He bit his tongue before anything worse bubbled up. Showing a quick temper on a first date? He had more restraint than that. He forced himself to swallow down the venom that threatened to pour out.

 

Until, of course, he checked his date.

 

Castiel was still holding his empty coffee cup in one hand, while he sadly fingered the puddle on his stormy grey sweater. He could feel that the cup of coffee had made its way through the sweater, his collared shirt sticking damp to his belly. Even his pants were affected, the coffee spilling down onto his jeans, nearly resembling a _different sort_ of ‘accident.’

 

“Oh no no no.” Dean’s eyes flicked over his date’s tainted clothes. “Fuck, Cas I’m so sorry.”  

Cas tried pulling the sweater-shirt combo away from his chest as relieve from the moisture, and only felt a chill move through the gap. “Maybe I should head back to my dorm,” he mumbled.

 

Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Right. Totally. How far away is that?”

 

He mentally mapped out their path home, wishing he still lived in the dormitory that could be reached by cutting through an alley behind the pie shop. “Eight blocks. I can take a cab.” Yet after the cab, he still had to trek through the college quad. His shoulders sagged with that thought.

 

Dean’s eyes flashed with a realization. “Actually, I live two blocks away from here. You can borrow my clothes and I’ll wash yours.”

 

“Dean, you don’t have to do that.” His skin prickled under the wet spot.

 

“It’s no big deal. We can watch a movie while your clothes are in the wash. Really.” He tossed Cas’ coffee cup into a dirty black receptacle at the next intersection, and the pair picked up the pace.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Unlike Cas’ dormitory hall with winding marble stairs and brass banisters, the stairwell leading to Dean’s apartment resembled a set in a post-apocalyptic movie. Complete with flickering fluorescent lights, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Dean revealed a gold key at the top of the stairs and, after adjusting the crooked door knocker, jiggled the door as he turned it in the lock.

 

“It’s a tricky door.” He explained, pushing the door open with a _click_ and releasing a gust of coffee-flavored wind into the hallway.

 

Cas’ eyes widened at the sight of Dean’s apartment. It was not like he expected.

 

“It’s so…”

 

“Messy?” Dean finished prematurely, slapping his keys on the tilted kitchen table and speed walking to their left around a set of wooden chairs. “Sorry. I’ve been working on designs for the shop.” The keys slid across the table due to the uneven legs, softly clinking with the glass bowl of apples that sat in the center.

 

Cas frowned in thought, hanging up his coat on the hooks next to the entryway. This mess Dean was referring to seemed nonexistent. He scanned the dark apartment and realized the only thing a little disheveled was a desk in the corner. that had a few stacks of paper, in different stages of design.  The corkboard above the desk was covered in paper: some flyers for local art shows, but mostly pen drawings.

 

The living room looked like it split the apartment like a mirror with two bedrooms on the sides. Castiel could see a red comforter covered bed through a cracked door to his right, wondering if anyone else was home.

 

Dean pushed the door to the left open and disappeared into the room.

 

Castiel closed the door behind him, having to lift the door slightly so that it would close completely. He shuffled towards the kitchen, which had a more distinct peanut-butter smell separate from the day-old-coffee scent of the apartment. Despite the aroma of Skippy, the linoleum countertop was spotless. There were no dirty dishes in the sink that marked the home of a bachelor.

 

From what he could tell through the dark, the rest of the apartment matched this living style. It was obviously lived in: the couch cushions had two dents imprinted on them and kitchen table had more than a few coffee rings on it; but it couldn’t be classified as dirty or messy.

 

Dean squeaked in his socks across the dark hardwood floors (a stark contrast to the exposed sheet-metal walls). He held up a white tee shirt and a pair of plain grey sweatpants with an angry blue blotch of ink on the pocket.

 

“To the contrary, Dean. I’ve never seen an apartment so clean.” Cas blinked at him through the thick darkness.

 

Dean twisted the knob of a standing lamp that Cas hadn’t noticed by the couch. It illuminated the couch area and the kitchen table.

 

The lamp also served Dean well, making his green eyes look like sparkling emeralds in a cave. Cas found it difficult to tear his away and acknowledge the clean and _dry_ clothes he held.

 

Dean’s smile flashed at him, the pearly whites looking like just that. “Thanks, Cas. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” Cas could have sworn he saw his date wink at him.

 

He could have asked about using his bathroom, as he would if this situation had happened anywhere else, but he was feeling bold. He pulled his sweater over his head, throwing it over a kitchen chair. He couldn’t help but grimace as he unbuttoned his damp shirt, feeling how cold and sticky it had become on the walk over to shelter. The adams apple in Dean’s throat bobbed as Cas dragged his fingers over them.

 

He did the same thing, draping it over the chair on top of his sweater. He reached out his hand to take the white tee, only to be stopped by a warm body instead.

 

Dean’s lips were cooler than the rest of his body, but when they touched Cas’ he felt like he had just gulped down another cup of Sasha’s joe. Warmth pooled in his belly, as a slightly shocked Cas finally had the reflex to lean into it.

 

That’s what it felt like to Castiel. A reflex. Muscle memory like kissing by the front door with his shirt off was a ritual they had started long ago. He felt Dean’s warm touch working its way down to his belt, unbuckling and unzipping. He felt Dean’s hands waver at his waistband, pausing to touch his fingertips on the sensitive skin just under it, without rushing to pull the damp jeans off of him. Cas made a low sound of protest.

 

“Do you want me to stop?” Dean murmured onto Cas’ lips, peeking one eye open to see his eyebrows raised.

 

“I want you to proceed,” Cas commanded.

 

Dean felt himself twitch under his own jeans. _Holy hell._ He kissed Cas’ lips again. He backed him into the wall of the entryway, sucking on Cas’ lip. He moved to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Dean slowly pulled down Cas’ jeans as he trailed kisses down his chest, his belly.

 

“Dean,” Cas growled. The fucker grinned up at him, before trailing more pecks and well placed hickeys lower, pulling down the band of Cas’ boxer briefs.

 

“Oh! _Dean._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))))))) Hope the wait was worth it! see u all soon.


	11. The Fifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is all smut. it;s a continuation of chapter 10 so skip over if you're not 18+!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SERIOUSLY. ALL SMUT. DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT COLLECT $200 IF YOU're UNDER 18

* * *

Cas groaned, spreading his legs at the silent request of Dean’s broad hands. Touching, grabbing the insides of his toned thighs. This was _not_ fair. 

 

“Oh, _Dean._ ” He repeated. Dean’s mouth made his way down past his hips to meet his hands, and was now working his way back up. Sucking and tonguing the inside of his thighs and now up into his pelvis. He tilted his head back, hitting the wall with a low _thump_. He didn’t mind that Dean pinned against the wall by a steady hand on his hip, but his hands itched to grab onto something. Dean’s hot breath on the damp spots was driving him crazy and he just felt a primal need to claw something. 

 

Like a _bedsheet._ That would be something. 

 

Dean made progress quickly, seemingly impatient even though he was the one controlling the speed. It was as if he wasn’t _just_ teasing Castiel. He spat on his hand and wrapped his hand around his shaft. 

 

With that, Cas arched his arms above his head and then towards his sides, trying to find some traction on the plaster behind him. After twitching his hands over the smooth surface, he dropped his arm and clasped the back of Dean’s hair with one hand. _Better,_ Cas thought. He felt strange just dangling his right hand at his side, so he buried his fingers in his own damp hair, pushing it out of his face. 

 

Cas’ fidgeting did nothing to hinder Dean. With his right hand he moved his hand up and down the length of Cas’ erection, focusing his mouth on his balls.

Cas’ breath hitched. He closed his fist in Dean’s cropped hair, accidentally yanking it. 

 

“Easy, tiger,” Dean rumbled. He took the time to lick around the base of Cas’ shaft, his nose brushing a tuft of hair that had been neglected. His fist stroking in shallow pumps so that his thumb ran over the tip. Cas’ hips jerked forward, and Dean’s left hand fixed him back in place. 

 

Cas made a humming noise that vibrated in the back of his throat, trying to keep from tugging his lover’s hair. Dean tongued his way up and around the head of his cock, licking it like an ice cream cone. At the relief of Castiel he supplemented his thumb and forefinger with his lips. 

 

“Mmmmph… d-Dean,” Cas choked out, hyperaware of the way Dean continued to swirl his tongue around his cock. With the sound of Castiel’s voice, he picked up the pace, moving his hand faster and puckering his lips around him. 

 

 ’Dean’ became a mantra. It was truly a magic word that got him more of what he wanted. More Dean. More. 

 

Dean himself was stimulated by the low tones of his voice, rewarding Castiel for letting his name have a moment on his tongue. He moved his left hand to grab a handful of Castiel’s ass, his trimmed nails barely scratching his smooth skin. 

 

“Oohmy— ff-uck Dean,” Cas moaned, a hint of desperation tagged at the end of his phrase. He tugged at Dean’s hair, unable to hold back, clasping handful after handful. “Mmmgna-“ He pulled at Dean’s head, a more physical way of re-directing his mouth. 

 

Dean obliged, releasing Castiel from his mouth with a comical _pop,_ his hand soldiering on as he stood back up, offering a goofy smile to his wide-mouthed date. He pumped his hand upwards, his cock pulsating. Dean leaned in again, and scraped his teeth against Castiel’s neck, sucking and biting on the paper-thin skin. Beads of sweat gathered around his collarbone, a more subtle salty taste lingered on his neck. 

 

“Come for me, baby,” Dean buzzed thickly in his ear, aware of Cas’ orgasm already escaping him. Dean stopped, his hand sticky and warm. He whipped off his white tee shirt and wiped himself and his date clean. 

 

“Oh no,” Cas panted, pushing his hair off his wet brow with a shaky hand. 

 

“Oh no, what?” Dean said, concerned with the first post-climax words he used. 

 

Cas looked at Dean sincerely, the pupils in his bright blue eyes dilated. “Now we have to put your clothes in the laundry, too.” 

 

Dean’s eyes flashed to his date’s tainted clothes draped over his kitchen chair. He grinned. 

 

“I guess we do.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
